#Daily life in Rome | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pucksandpower · 6 months ago

Text

In Another Life

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Rome, 79 AD

The bustling streets of Rome pulse with life as you make your way through the crowded forum. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meat wafts through the air, mingling with the chatter of merchants and citizens going about their daily business. You adjust your stola, the flowing garment feeling unusually constricting today as you hurry towards the Temple of Venus.

“Watch where you’re going!” A gruff voice shouts as you accidentally bump into a burly man carrying an amphora.

“My apologies,” you mutter, quickening your pace. Your heart races, not from the near-collision, but from anticipation. You’re running late for your clandestine meeting with Charles, the young patrician who has captured your heart.

As you approach the temple, you spot him pacing nervously at the base of the steps. His toga gleams white in the afternoon sun and his usually perfectly coiffed hair is slightly disheveled, as if he’s been running his hands through it anxiously.

“There you are!” Charles exclaims as you draw near. His face breaks into a relieved smile, and he reaches for your hands. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come.”

You can’t help but return his smile, your earlier stress melting away. “As if I could stay away,” you tease, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. “Though I must say, your choice of meeting place is rather bold. The Temple of Venus? Are you trying to tell me something?”

He laughs, a warm, rich sound that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. “Perhaps I’m simply hoping the goddess will smile upon us,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “After all, we could use all the divine favor we can get.”

Your smile falters slightly at his words, reality creeping back in. “Have you spoken with your father?” You ask, unable to keep the worry from your voice.

Charles’ expression grows serious. “I have,” he says, leading you to a secluded corner of the temple grounds. “He’s ... not pleased, to say the least. He still insists on the marriage to Claudia.”

You feel a pang in your chest at the mention of Charles’ intended bride. “And what did you tell him?”

“The truth,” Charles replies firmly. “That my heart belongs to you and I won’t marry another.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Charles,” you whisper, “you know the consequences-”

He cuts you off, cupping your face in his hands. “I don’t care about the consequences. I love you, Y/N. I won’t let my father’s ambitions or society’s expectations keep us apart.”

You lean into his touch, torn between elation and fear. “But your family, your position ... you’d lose everything.”

“Not everything,” Charles insists. “I’d have you. That’s all that matters.”

You’re about to respond when a commotion near the temple entrance catches your attention. Your blood runs cold as you spot Charles’ father, Senator Leclerc, striding towards you, flanked by several burly slaves.

“Charles!” The senator bellows, his face contorted with rage. “Step away from that girl at once!”

Charles instinctively moves to shield you. “Father, please,” he begins, but the senator cuts him off.

“Silence! You shame our family with this ... this dalliance. I won’t stand for it any longer.”

You feel Charles tense beside you. “It’s not a dalliance, Father. I love her.”

The senator’s face grows even redder. “Love? You know nothing of love, boy. You have a duty to your family, to Rome. I won’t let you throw it all away for some common girl.”

“She’s not common,” Charles argues, his voice rising. “She’s extraordinary, and I won’t let you or anyone speak ill of her.”

The tension in the air is palpable as father and son face off. You want to intervene, to de-escalate the situation, but you’re frozen in place, your heart pounding.

Suddenly, one of the senator’s slaves moves forward, reaching for Charles. Without thinking, you step between them. “Don’t touch him!” You cry out.

Everything happens in a blur. The slave’s hand connects with your shoulder, shoving you back. You stumble, your foot catching on the hem of your stola. Time seems to slow as you feel yourself falling, tumbling down the temple steps.

“Y/N!” Charles’ anguished cry is the last thing you hear before pain explodes through your body and the world goes dark.

You drift in and out of consciousness, aware of frantic voices and the sensation of being carried. Charles’ face swims into view, streaked with tears.

“Stay with me, love,” he pleads, his voice cracking. “Please, don’t leave me.”

You try to speak, to reassure him, but no words come. The pain is fading now, replaced by a strange numbness. You manage to lift a hand to Charles’ cheek, wanting to wipe away his tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I love you, Charles. In this life and the next.”

As darkness closes in, your last thought is a desperate hope that someday, somehow, you’ll find each other again.

Genoa, 1348

The acrid smell of smoke and death hangs heavy in the air as Charles makes his way through the narrow, winding streets. His eyes water, both from the stench and the unshed tears he’s been holding back for days. The plague has ravaged the city, leaving behind a trail of devastation and despair.

Charles pulls his cloth mask tighter over his nose and mouth, though he knows it’s likely futile. He’s a physician, one of the few brave — or foolish — enough to still tend to the sick. But today, he’s not seeking out patients. He’s searching for you.

“Y/N!” He calls out, his voice muffled by the mask. “Y/N, where are you?”

A nearby door creaks open, and a haggard face peers out. “Keep your voice down, fool,” the old woman hisses. “You’ll bring the afflicted running.”

Charles ignores her, pressing on. His heart races with each step, fear and hope warring within him. He hasn’t seen you in days, not since you left to care for your ailing aunt. The memory of your parting plays in his mind, as vivid as if it were happening now.

“I have to go,” you had said, your eyes filled with determination and fear. “She has no one else.”

He had tried to dissuade you. “It’s too dangerous. The plague-”

“I know the risks,” you’d cut him off. “But I can’t abandon her. You’d do the same if it were your family.”

He couldn’t argue with that. It was one of the things he loved most about you — your unwavering compassion, even in the face of danger.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he’d pleaded, pulling you close. “Promise me you’ll come back to me.”

You’d kissed him then, soft and sweet. “I promise. Nothing could keep me from you, my love. Not even death itself.”

Now, as he rounds another corner, Charles clings to that promise like a lifeline. “Y/N!” He calls again, desperation creeping into his voice.

Suddenly, he spots a familiar figure stumbling down the street. His heart leaps. “Y/N!”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and Charles feels his world tilt on its axis. Your face is pale, your eyes glassy with fever. As he watches in horror, you collapse to the ground.

“No, no, no,” Charles mutters, rushing to your side. He gathers you in his arms, his physician’s training warring with his lover’s panic. “Y/N, can you hear me? Open your eyes, love.”

Your eyelids flutter, and you manage a weak smile. “Charles,” you whisper. “You found me.”

“Of course I found you,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll always find you. Now, let’s get you home and take care of you.”

You shake your head slightly. “No, it’s too late. The plague-”

“Don’t say that,” Charles interrupts fiercely. “It’s not too late. I’m a physician, remember? I’ll cure you. I have to.”

Despite your condition, you manage a soft laugh. “My stubborn love. Always fighting the impossible.”

Charles lifts you gently, cradling you against his chest. “Nothing’s impossible when it comes to you,” he insists, starting the journey back to his home. “We’ve overcome so much already. Remember when we first met? You were convinced a lowly apprentice physician could never court a merchant’s daughter.”

You smile at the memory. “And you were determined to prove me wrong.”

“Which I did,” Charles says, a hint of his old cockiness creeping into his voice. “Rather spectacularly, if I recall correctly.”

“Mmm, yes,” you murmur. “That night under the stars, when you recited all those ridiculous poems ...”

Charles chuckles. “They weren’t ridiculous. They were romantic.”

“They were terrible,” you counter weakly. “But your heart was in the right place.”

As they near Charles’ home, your breathing becomes more labored. Fear claws at Charles’ chest, but he forces it down. “Stay with me, love,” he pleads. “We’re almost there.”

Once inside, Charles lays you gently on the bed. He works tirelessly, applying every treatment and remedy he knows. Hours blur together as he fights against the inevitable, refusing to give up hope.

But as night falls, he can no longer deny the truth. The plague is winning and he’s powerless to stop it.

“Charles,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “It’s time to let go.”

He shakes his head vehemently, tears streaming down his face. “No, I can’t. I won’t lose you again.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Again?”

Charles pauses, unsure where that thought came from. “I ... I don’t know. It just feels like I’ve lost you before, somehow.”

You manage a small smile. “Perhaps in another life,” you muse. “But in this one, we found each other. We loved. That’s what matters.”

“It’s not enough,” Charles insists, his voice breaking. “We were supposed to have more time. We were going to get married, have children, grow old together.”

“We’ll have that chance,” you say with surprising conviction. “If not in this life, then in the next. Our souls are bound, Charles. I feel it. This isn’t the end for us.”

Charles wants to believe you, but the grief is overwhelming. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know our love,” you reply, reaching up to touch his face. “It’s stronger than death, stronger than time itself. We’ll find each other again, my love. I promise.”

As your hand falls away, your eyes close for the last time. Charles pulls you close, his body wracked with sobs. “I’ll find you,” he vows through his tears. “In this life or the next, I’ll always find you.”

Days pass in a haze of grief and determination. Charles throws himself into treating the sick with renewed vigor, heedless of the risk to himself. And when the telltale symptoms begin to appear — the fever, the chills, the aching limbs — he faces them without fear.

As he lies in his sickbed, Charles’ thoughts are only of you. “I’m coming, my love,” he whispers to the empty room. “Wait for me.”

His last conscious thought is a fervent hope that somehow, somewhere, you’ll be reunited once more.

Paris, 1789

The streets of Paris echo with the sound of angry voices and marching feet as Charles makes his way through the city’s winding alleys. His heart races, not from the exertion of his hurried pace, but from the fear of what’s to come. The revolution has begun in earnest, and his world is crumbling around him.

“Charles!” Your voice cuts through the chaos, and he turns to see you running towards him, your skirts hiked up to allow for faster movement. “Thank God I found you. We have to go, now!”

He grabs your hand, pulling you into a shadowy doorway. “Y/N, what are you doing here? It’s not safe!”

You cup his face in your hands, your eyes blazing with determination. “I couldn’t leave without you. The mob is heading for your family’s estate. We need to get you out of the city.”

Charles feels a rush of love for you, even as fear grips his heart. You, a baker’s daughter, risking everything to save him. “And what of you? Your family?”

“They’re safe,” you assure him. “Papa closed the bakery and they’ve gone to stay with relatives in the countryside. But you ... Charles, they’ll kill you if they find you.”

He knows you’re right. His family name, once a source of pride, is now a death sentence. “Where can we go?” He asks, his mind racing.

“I have a plan,” you say, tugging him back into the street. “There’s a farmer who owes my father a favor. He’s agreed to hide us until we can secure passage to England.”

As you hurry through the streets, the sounds of the mob grow louder. Charles can’t help but look back, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he’s leaving behind.

“Charles, focus,” you urge, squeezing his hand. “We’re almost there.”

Suddenly, a group of revolutionaries rounds the corner ahead of you. Their eyes lock onto Charles, recognition dawning on their faces.

“Aristocrat!” One of them shouts, pointing an accusing finger. “Seize him!”

“Run!” Charles yells, pulling you in the opposite direction. You flee hand-in-hand, weaving through the narrow streets as shouts and footsteps echo behind you.

“This way,” you pant, yanking him down an alley. “I know a shortcut.”

You lead him through a maze of backstreets, the angry voices growing fainter. Just as Charles begins to hope you’ve lost them, you emerge onto a main road … and straight into the path of another group of revolutionaries.

“Halt!” A burly man with a tricolor sash shouts, leveling a musket at Charles.

Charles pushes you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Please,” he says, raising his hands. “We mean no harm. We’re just trying to leave the city.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “You’re Leclerc’s boy, aren’t you? The one who’s been helping nobles escape?”

Charles feels you stiffen behind him. He’d kept his activities secret, even from you, to keep you safe. But now ...

“Yes,” he admits, straightening his spine. “I’ve been helping innocent people escape persecution. If that’s a crime, then I’m guilty.”

The man’s face twists with rage. “Traitor to the revolution!” He spits. “You’ll pay for your crimes against the people!”

As the man raises his musket, time seems to slow. Charles is acutely aware of your rapid breathing behind him, of the sweat beading on his brow, of the hammering of his heart.

“No!” You cry out, trying to push past Charles. “Please, he’s a good man! He’s helped people, saved lives!”

“Y/N, don’t,” Charles pleads, holding you back. He turns to face you, drinking in the sight of your face, committing every detail to memory. “I love you,” he says softly. “In this life and the next.”

The words trigger a flash of memory — or is it déjà vu? Charles has a sudden feeling that he’s said those words before, in another time, another place.

The moment is shattered by the deafening crack of the musket firing. Charles feels a searing pain in his chest, and then he’s falling, the world tilting sideways.

“Charles!” You anguished scream seems to come from far away. He feels your arms around him, cradling his head in your lap. “No, no, no. Stay with me, my love. Please!”

Charles tries to speak, but only a wet cough comes out. He can taste blood in his mouth. The pain is fading now, replaced by a spreading numbness.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to whisper. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Tears stream down your face as you bend over him. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re a hero, Charles. My hero.”

He wants to tell you how much he loves you, how meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to him. But the darkness is closing in, and he can feel himself slipping away.

As his eyes flutter closed, Charles has a strange sensation of déjà vu. He sees flashes of other lives — ancient Rome, plague-ridden Genoa — where he loved you and lost you. Or did you lose him?

With his last breath, Charles makes a silent vow. Somehow, someway, he’ll find you again. In the next life, you’ll get it right. You have to.

The world fades to black, but Charles isn’t afraid. He knows this isn’t the end. It’s just another beginning.

You hold Charles’ lifeless body, your sobs echoing in the suddenly quiet street. The revolutionaries stand awkwardly, some looking ashamed, others defiant.

“What have you done?” You cry out, your voice raw with grief and anger. “He was a good man! He helped people!”

The man with the musket shifts uncomfortably. “He was an aristocrat,” he mutters, but there’s less conviction in his voice now.

You look up at him, your eyes blazing through your tears. “He was a human being,” you say fiercely. “And you murdered him.”

As the reality of what they’ve done sinks in, the crowd begins to disperse. You’re left alone with Charles, cradling his body in the middle of the street.

“I’ll find you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “In the next life, my love. I promise we’ll be together again.”

As night falls over Paris, you sit vigil over Charles’ body, your heart broken but your spirit undefeated. Somewhere deep inside, you know this isn’t the end of your story. It’s just another chapter in a love that spans lifetimes.

London, 1942

The steady tick of the clock on the mantle seems to echo through the small London flat as you pace anxiously, your eyes darting to the window every few seconds. The air raid sirens have been silent for days, but the tension in the city remains palpable. It’s been weeks since you’ve heard from Charles, and the knot of worry in your stomach grows tighter with each passing day.

A sharp knock at the door makes you jump. Your heart races as you rush to answer it, hope and fear warring within you. But instead of Charles’ warm smile, you’re met with the solemn face of his fellow RAF pilot, James.

“James,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. “What is it? What’s happened?”

James removes his cap, twisting it in his hands. “May I come in? I’m afraid I have some news about Charles.”

The world seems to tilt on its axis as you step back, allowing James to enter. You lead him to the small sitting room, your movements mechanical, as if you’re watching yourself from a distance.

“Please,” you say, gesturing to a chair. “Sit down and tell me everything.”

James perches on the edge of the armchair, his discomfort palpable. “There’s no easy way to say this. Charles’ plane was shot down over the Channel three days ago. We ... we haven’t found any survivors.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, driving the air from your lungs. “No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “No, that can’t be right. Charles is too good a pilot. He promised he’d come back to me.”

James leans forward, his eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. Charles was one of the best pilots I’ve ever known, but the Jerries caught us by surprise. There was nothing he could do.”

You sink onto the sofa, your legs suddenly unable to support you. “Tell me what happened,” you demand, your voice stronger than you feel. “I need to know everything.”

James nods, taking a deep breath. “We were on a routine patrol over the Channel. Everything seemed quiet, and then suddenly the sky was full of Messerschmitts. They came out of nowhere, diving out of the sun.”

He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “Charles ... he was incredible. He managed to take down two of them before they could even react. But there were just too many of them.”

You close your eyes, picturing Charles in the cockpit of his Spitfire, his face set with determination as he faced impossible odds. It’s an image that both comforts and devastates you.

“I saw his plane take a hit,” James continues, his voice rough with emotion. “He was trying to draw their fire away from the rest of us. The last thing I heard over the radio was him saying, ‘Tell Y/N I love her. In this life and the next.’”

A sob escapes you at those words, so achingly familiar. “He’s said that before,” you murmur, more to yourself than to James.

“I’m sorry?” James asks, leaning closer.

You shake your head, unsure how to explain the strange sense of déjà vu. “It’s nothing. Please, go on.”

James nods, though he looks at you curiously. “His plane went down fast after that. We searched for hours, but with the weather and the waves ...” He trails off, leaving the grim implication hanging in the air.

“So there’s still a chance?” You ask, clinging to a shred of hope. “If you didn’t find ... if there’s no body, he could still be out there, right?”

The pity in James’ eyes is almost unbearable. “Y/N, I know it’s hard to accept, but the chances of survival in those conditions ... it would take a miracle.”

You stand abruptly, pacing the small room. “Then I’ll believe in miracles,” you declare fiercely. “Charles is strong, and he’s a survivor. He wouldn’t leave me, not like this.”

James rises, reaching out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I understand. Charles spoke of you often, you know. He loved you more than anything in this world.”

“Loves,” you correct him sharply. “He loves me. Present tense.”

James nods, not arguing. “Of course. I’m sorry, I should go. Is there anything you need? Anyone I can call for you?”

You shake your head, suddenly desperate to be alone. “No, thank you. I just ... I need some time.”

As you show James out, he pauses at the door. “Charles was more than just my commanding officer. He was my friend. If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You manage a weak smile. “Thank you, James. That means a lot.”

As the door closes behind him, the flat seems to grow impossibly quiet. You lean against the wall, feeling as though you might shatter into a million pieces at any moment.

Your eyes fall on a framed photograph of Charles, taken just before he left for his last mission. His smile is radiant, his eyes full of life and love. You pick up the frame, tracing his features with a trembling finger.

“You promised,” you whisper to the image. “You promised you’d come back to me.”

A memory surfaces, unbidden. Charles, laughing as he spun you around in the park on your first date. “You know,” he had said, his eyes twinkling, “I have the strangest feeling I’ve known you forever.”

You had felt it too, that inexplicable sense of familiarity, of coming home. “Maybe we knew each other in a past life,” you had joked.

Charles had grown serious then, cupping your face in his hands. “If that’s true,” he had said softly, “then I’m certain I loved you just as much then as I do now.”

The memory is too much. Your knees buckle, and you sink to the floor, still clutching the photograph to your chest. Sobs wrack your body as the full weight of your loss crashes over you.

“Come back to me,” you plead between gasping breaths. “Please, Charles. Find me again. In this life or the next, just find me.”

As you kneel there, lost in your grief, a strange calm settles over you. Deep in your soul, you feel a certainty that this isn’t the end. Somehow, someway, you and Charles will find each other again.

You have to believe it. It’s the only thing that will get you through the long, dark nights ahead.

Berlin, 1961

The cold November air bites at Charles’ face as he paces along the western side of the Berlin Wall, his breath forming small clouds in the dim light of dawn. His eyes scan the imposing concrete barrier, searching for any sign of movement on the other side. He checks his watch for the hundredth time, willing the minutes to pass faster.

“Come on, Y/N,” he mutters under his breath. “Where are you?”

As if in answer to his plea, a small pebble arcs over the wall, landing at his feet. Charles’ heart leaps as he bends to retrieve it, unfolding the small piece of paper wrapped around it.

I’m here, the note reads in your familiar handwriting. Same spot. Be careful.

Charles moves quickly to a section of the wall where a drain pipe creates a small blind spot from the watchtowers. He pulls out a compact mirror, angling it to catch a glimpse of the other side.

“Y/N,” he whispers urgently. “Can you hear me?”

“Charles!” Your voice comes back, barely audible. “Thank God. I was worried you wouldn’t come.��

“I’ll always come for you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Are you alright? Did anyone follow you?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “I was careful. But Charles, we don’t have much time. They’re planning to move me to Moscow next week. This might be our last chance.”

Charles feels his stomach drop. “Moscow? No, we can’t let that happen. We have to get you out of there tonight.”

“How?” You ask, a note of desperation in your voice. “The security has been tightened since the last escape attempt. There are patrols everywhere.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, his mind racing. “I have a contact in the American sector. He might be able to help. But Y/N, it’s risky. If we’re caught ...”

“I know,” you interrupt. “But I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t keep pretending to be loyal to a system I despise. And I can’t bear to be separated from you any longer.”

His heart swells at your words. “I feel the same way. Okay, listen carefully. Meet me back here at midnight. Wear dark clothes and bring only what you can carry in a small bag. I’ll have everything else ready on this side.”

“Midnight,” you repeat. “I’ll be here. Charles ... I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says softly. “More than you could ever know. Be safe, Y/N. I’ll see you soon.”

As Charles turns to leave, he’s struck by a sudden, overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He’s had this feeling before when talking to you, as if your souls have known each other across lifetimes. Shaking off the strange thought, he hurries away to set the plan in motion.

The hours crawl by as Charles makes preparations. He meets with his American contact, secures false documents, and plots the safest route to the western sector. As night falls, he returns to the wall, his nerves on edge.

Midnight comes and goes. Charles waits, every muscle tense, straining to hear any sound from the other side. Five minutes pass. Then ten.

“Y/N?” He whispers urgently. “Are you there?”

Silence answers him. Charles feels panic rising in his chest. Something’s wrong.

Suddenly, the night is shattered by the sound of shouting and dogs barking. Floodlights blaze to life on the eastern side of the wall.

“No,” Charles breathes, horror washing over him. “Y/N!”

He presses himself against the wall, desperate to hear something, anything. The chaos on the other side grows louder. Then, cutting through it all, he hears your voice.

“Charles!” You cry out. “Charles, help me!”

Without thinking, Charles begins to climb the wall, heedless of the danger. He has to get to you, has to save you.

“Stop right there!” A gruff voice shouts in German. Charles freezes, realizing he’s been spotted by a guard on the western side.

“Please,” Charles begs in German, “You don’t understand. There’s someone over there who needs help. I have to-”

His words are cut off by the sharp crack of gunfire from the eastern side. Charles’ blood runs cold.

“Y/N!” He screams, no longer caring who hears him. “Y/N, answer me!”

But there’s no response. The night falls eerily quiet, broken only by the sound of hurried orders being given in Russian.

Charles slumps against the wall, his mind refusing to accept what his heart already knows. You’re gone. He was too late.

Hours pass in a blur. Charles remains by the wall, numb with grief and shock. As dawn breaks, he hears someone approaching from the western side.

“Mr. Leclerc?” A voice says softly. It’s his American contact. “I’m so sorry. We ... we heard what happened.”

Charles looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. “Tell me,” he says hoarsely.

The man sighs heavily. “She was caught trying to reach the wall. There was a struggle. The guards ... they didn’t hesitate to use lethal force.”

Each word is like a knife to Charles’ heart. “Did she suffer?” He asks, dreading the answer.

“It was quick,” the man assures him. “If it’s any consolation, our sources say her last words were about you. She said, ‘Tell Charles I’ll find him again. In this life or the next.’”

Charles closes his eyes, a single tear rolling down his cheek. Those words ... why do they sound so familiar?

“Mr. Leclerc,” the American says gently, “it’s not safe for you to stay here. We need to get you out of Berlin. There will be questions, investigations.”

But Charles barely hears him. His mind is reeling, flashes of memories — or are they dreams — flooding his consciousness. Ancient Rome, plague-ridden Genoa, revolutionary France, war-torn skies over the English Channel. In each scene, he sees your face, hears your voice promising to find each other again.

“This isn’t the end,” Charles murmurs, more to himself than to the confused American.

“I’m sorry?” The man asks.

Charles stands, a strange calm settling over him. “Nothing,” he says. “You’re right. We should go.”

As they walk away from the wall, Charles makes a silent vow. He will live, he will remember, and he will find you again. Somehow, somewhere, in another life, you will have your chance at happiness.

The Berlin Wall may have separated you in this life, but Charles is certain now that your souls are bound across lifetimes. And no wall, no war, no force on earth can keep you apart forever.

Abu Dhabi, 2025

The roar of engines fills the air as Charles crosses the finish line, clinching his first Formula 1 World Championship. The crowd erupts in cheers, but Charles barely hears them. His eyes scan the barriers, searching for one face among thousands.

As he brings his Ferrari to a stop, he sees you pushing through the throng of celebrating team members. Your eyes meet, and suddenly everything else fades away. Charles leaps from the car, not even bothering to remove his helmet as he runs towards you.

“We did it!” He shouts, sweeping you into his arms and spinning you around. “We actually did it!”

You laugh, tears of joy streaming down your face. “You did it, Charles! I’m so proud of you!”

He sets you down gently, finally removing his helmet. His hair is matted with sweat, his face flushed with exertion and excitement. To you, he’s never looked more handsome.

“No,” Charles says, cupping your face in his hands. “We did this together. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a passionate kiss. The world around you explodes with camera flashes and cheers, but neither of you notice. In this moment, you’re the only two people in the world.

As you finally break apart, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs. “In this life and-”

“And all the others,” you finish, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over you.

Charles pulls back slightly, his brow furrowed. “You feel it too, don’t you?” He asks. “Like we’ve said these words before?”

You nod, a bit dazed. “It’s strange. Sometimes when I look at you, I get flashes of ... I don’t know, other times, other places. But it’s always us, always together.”

A grin spreads across Charles’ face. “Maybe we’re soulmates,” he teases, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his eyes.

“Charles! Y/N!” A voice calls out. You turn to see Fred Vasseur approaching. “Sorry to interrupt, but Charles has to get weighed.”

Charles nods, then turns back to you. “Wait for me?” He asks.

You smile, giving him a quick kiss. “Always,” you promise.

As Charles is whisked away for obligations, you find yourself lost in thought. The strange feeling of familiarity, of a love that transcends time, has been with you since the day you met Charles. You’ve never mentioned it to him before, afraid he’d think you were crazy.

The podium ceremony is a blur of champagne and cheers. Charles’ radiant smile never wavers as he hoists the trophy, but his eyes keep finding you in the crowd. When it’s finally over, he makes a beeline for you, ignoring the clamoring reporters.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, taking your hand.

You raise an eyebrow. “What about the press conference? The team celebrations?”

Charles shakes his head. “They can wait. Right now, I just want to be with you.”

Hand-in-hand, you sneak away from the track, laughing like teenagers as you dodge team members and journalists. Charles leads you to his car and soon you’re speeding down the winding roads of the Emirati capital.

“Where are we going?” You ask, the wind whipping through your hair.

Charles grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ll see.”

As the sun begins to set, Charles pulls off onto a small dirt road. It leads to a secluded hilltop overlooking the valley below. The view is breathtaking, the entire landscape bathed in the warm glow of twilight.

“Charles,” you breathe, taking in the scene. “It’s beautiful.”

He comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Not as beautiful as you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck.

You turn in his arms, struck once again by the intensity of his gaze. “What are we doing here, Charles?”

He takes a deep breath, suddenly looking nervous. “Y/N, do you remember the day we met?”

You smile at the memory. “Of course. I was lost in the paddock and you offered to help me find my way.”

“The moment I saw you,” Charles says softly, “it was like ... like coming home. Like I’d been searching for you my whole life without even knowing it.”

Your heart races as he continues. “And ever since then, I’ve had these ... dreams, I guess. Flashes of other lives, other times. But always with you.”

“Charles,” you whisper, hardly daring to believe what you’re hearing. “I’ve had them too. I thought I was going crazy.”

He shakes his head, a look of wonder on his face. “Not crazy. Just ... connected. In a way I can’t fully explain.”

Charles takes your hands in his, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your skin. “I don’t know if it’s past lives or parallel universes or just some cosmic coincidence. But I do know this: in every life, in every version of reality, I love you. And I want to spend the rest of this life, and all the ones that come after, loving you.”

Your breath catches as Charles drops to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. “Y/N,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, “will you marry me?”

Tears blur your vision as you nod emphatically. “Yes,” you manage to choke out. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you!”

Charles’ face breaks into a radiant smile as he slips the ring onto your finger. He stands, pulling you into a kiss that feels like coming home and embarking on a new adventure all at once.

As you break apart, both of you laughing and crying, a sense of rightness settles over you. Whatever strange connection you share, whatever cosmic forces have brought you together time and time again, you know that this — right here, right now — is where you’re meant to be.

“I love you,” you say, looking into Charles’ eyes. “In this life and all the others.”

“And I love you,” he replies, holding you close. “Always and forever.”

The future stretches out before you, full of promise and possibility. And though you don’t know what challenges it might bring, you’re certain of one thing: whatever comes, you’ll face it together.

Just as you always have, and always will.

2K notes · View notes

pikslasrce · 2 months ago

Text

thanks to you all, we've managed to raise enough funds to save nour's @noorayman2 life and pay for her surgery!

however!! now she needs post-op treatment (medication, painkillers, etc), on top of their 10 member family's daily needs..

€13,778/€60,000

GOFUNDME [vetted]

please share+donate to keep nour and her family alive!

@sar-soor @vaporize-employers @soon-palestine @choccybug @cantsayidont @nabulsi @maoist-mizer @90-ghost @alarming-frequency @northgazaupdates2 @rickybabyboy @rain-rome @cipher-of-the-round-table @fujiwaradivebar @walcutt @falloutalexx @seasonofprophecy @zigcarnivorous @heritageposts @vampiricvenus @finalgirlabigailhobbs @darthteeth @sawasawako @dirhwangdaseul @neechees @autisticmudkip @loumandivorce @cuntylouis @butchniqabi @transmutationisms @ezrazone @dlxxv-vetted-donations @socalgal @deepspaceboytoy @handweavers @tamamita @aristotels @anissapierce @valtsv @willgrahamscunt @a-shade-of-blue @imjustheretotrytohelp @prisonhannibal @comrademango @murderbot

727 notes · View notes

lessumoreme · 2 years ago

Text

Rome

#rome #italy #europe #daily life #citylife

1 note · View note

aliaslittlewilliam · 10 months ago

Text

Railway Station Moments, Autumn 2023, Rome, Italy

#street photography #photographers on tumblr #street portrait #original photographers #black and white #monochrome #street life #urban #italy #rome #railway station #italia #drinking #daily life #lensculture #headshot

13 notes · View notes

blueberrypancakesworld · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! I have an idea but I don't know if you'll see this. I don't know maybe where Geta and Caracallas' wife is pregnant with twins but she doesn't want her children to grow up in a place like Rome, so she flees with the help of General Acacius far from Rome and lives in a cozy and humble house. While Geta and Caracallas are furious about the departure of their wife but they don't know anything about her until two years later when they receive valuable information and send for her to return to Rome. It is until then that they realize what the reader was hiding.

If it is not well translated it is because my language is not English

You will never escape our love

Geta/Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : hurt, dubious consent, kissing, mention of war and death, family problems, mention of injury, it's one of the darker portrayals of the two less sweet more narcissistic and controlling

Summary : If you were the Empress of Rome you were at best the most beautiful thing you could look at. For the people you were beautiful, for the rich you were a short thought and for the two emperors you were property that had to be impregnated and had little to say. But how long can a golden cage last before you break out to escape?

info: thank you dear for the request, sorry that you had to wait a bit i had university to do. Nevertheless I wish you a lot of fun :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A marriage should always be something beautiful, something exciting, something splendid, something that you remember for the rest of your life, at least that's how it seemed to be for everyone, except for Geta and Caracalla when they married the 'Flower of the West' to benefit politically.

Both parties profited from it with trade, money and slaves it was as simple as that and she had to realize how divine her two new husbands were...it was above all the disgrace of the gods that came over her and love seemed to slowly close around her like a cage with no prospect of salvation.

It had started well, Geta had sent her many letters, his words had flattered her and the coins that came with them showed portraits of two young men who both had a certain charm.

Her mosaic which had been sent back with a few letters was also warmly received, ,,You're here at last, look brother the prettiest woman in all the provinces is finally here with us” Geta greeted her, his fingers warm and careful as he took her hand and placed a kiss on it.

It was a sign of respect, something that would be appreciated once they were married, his looks flattered her, he truly had something divine about him and she found herself laughing more often than she thought she would, ,,Your ideas and views are truly inspiring” she had replied as they had taken a short walk through the palace together.

Each of the two wanted to spend some time with her...until the moment they arrived at Caracalla.

She felt Geta's hand tighten around hers, painfully tight as the younger man came over to them, ,,My pretty flower, if you please,” he chuckled, pulling her hand from his brother whose look seemed almost warning.

A first sign of what was happening between the two, what it was that had befallen eid and what “divinity” lay behind them. As she realized after only a few weeks, none at all.

Geta, a self-proclaimed god whose words were like liquid lies, seemed to influence her every move, from her clothes to her hair, what she ate and what she didn't. In his kisses, there was no love, only mockery.

There was no love in his kisses but cobwebs that wrapped around her more and more, ,,Alone in Rome, a world power, my love, you know I could never forgive myself for losing you” he reminded her almost daily why she stayed in the palace.

When she did go out she saw what she was supposed to see, people starving, protesting, murdering and the Colosseum only seemed to amplify all of it This is no place for children she thought fearfully and put her hand on her stomach, she had shared the bed with Geta as often as with his brother.

A bed full of blood and tears and yet she hadn't gotten pregnant, not yet, but how kind could gods be, especially to her.

What Geta had in being a god, his brother had in madness, Caracalla could be the sweetest and most caring man you knew one moment only to cut her with a knife the next, thinking they were at war and he had to kill her and laughing when he saw the blood dripping on the floor.

A maniac whose bites covered her body more than kisses, ,,I need you, you know that, don't you? This madness I don't know what I'd do without you...maybe burn down the world” he always told her when they were in a quiet moment, when he calmed down and she hoped for something better.

But what Geta had in lies, Caracalla had in manipulation and two golden gods moving around her was a hopeless future...a future she knew she only had one way out of, especially when she didn't bleed for the first time and she vomited.

It was the dark eyes of the folk hero who had often watched the empress, seeing the stains and marks under her make-up, hearing the screams and weeping whenever he had an audience with one of the servants and never seeing her wife in such a friendly way.

Acacius and Lucila had already made plans and the Empress would play a role. ,,If the Empress wishes, I will accompany her back, it is not always safe,” he placed himself between her and the Emperor's brothers, who appreciated Acacius.

She cautiously felt the hand on her back as he led her away from her husbands, her breathing unsteady, the fear of finding out she was pregnant ever-present, ,,Why? Why are you doing this?” she asked cautiously as they sat together in a carriage and he sat opposite her.

His warm eyes looked at her with almost fatherly reassurance and his hand pointed to her belly, ,,Rome has been close to death since it was built, the battles are too bloody and peace must come.

Two dead emperors without heirs would be the beginning” he said slowly and the fear that rose in her that they wanted to kill her disappeared immediately when the carriage suddenly took a different direction than the palace.

,,You will be taken care of, a small hut you will stay in until I come for you and the two have fallen" a short explanation, short words and a plan that brought tears to her eyes. The cage seemed open for the first time.

A cage that opened and led to freedom in the countryside, Acacius hadn't lied, it was a small hut with a servant to help her with the work and the sheep, with a small field for self-sufficiency and supplies that would last for some time.

It was a place that was like the other side of a coin, quiet, peaceful, friendly and safe for her children children who were born a few months later in the spring of the new year and twins a boy and a girl saw the light of day.

A light of the world that did not deny them their origins the girl looked like her older father except for her eyes, she was eager to explore and kept her mother on her toes.

The boy, on the other hand, was the image of his younger father except for his hair, always laughing and chasing after his twin until he played with the little figures.

They were children from her time in Rome, children who had reached the age of two and she still loved them, they were her ,,My two beautiful suns" she called them while she held them and listened to her servant who was more friend than servant at the time.

A time that was pervaded by peace that she did not think that the shadow of the past would once again settle over her, a shadow that came in the form of a carriage.

,,My lady, a troop with the military seal is approaching” she heard the voice of her servant who wanted to close the door but was interrupted. It had been two years of harsh fears and discomfort and peace had finally come to an end, Acacius had won.

A victory she didn't know how false it could be, a victory that turned out to be a sword that stabbed her friend and she didn't even realize it when she was on her way back to town.

The city that held so much sorrow seemed quiet, few people on the street, new buildings and she spotted scattered statues for her Time has changed so many things it went through her mind and the two small children each sat next to her holding her hand.

They would be looked upon as a prince and princess, would be a fresh inspiration and she would finally have peace under Lucilla...or so she thought.

A thought that was miserably shattered when, upon entering the throne room, she looked into two faces that almost made her cry out as she realized like a blow that all those who had helped her were dead, that Acacius had given his life again for a dream of Rome that would never exist and that Lucilla, the princess she loved so much, was gone.

,,Information is more promising than letters and empty words and you're finally back” Geta said his eyes kind but his voice was laced with anger as he came up to her and Caracalla looked tearful ,,You left me alone" he said and she saw the dagger flash in one hand.

You can't escape misfortune, not when your human gods own you or love you, her children still whimpered nervously behind her as they sensed their mother's fear, a fear the emperors treated with disdain.

Geta's hand sought hers, ,,We would have given you heirs, as many as it would have taken, but instead you are raising the children of a what, a merchant? Give them to him” Geta demanded and his hand closed around her arm and Caracalla realized what he should do with the dagger and his smile widened.

Her heart was beating so loudly that she could hear it in her ears, memories of former love were long gone and all she saw were the two monsters she would never forget, monsters who did not recognize their own children and she cried out, ,,They are your children!” as Caracalla raised the dagger and Geta tried to pull her away.

Words that made them both pause, the dagger fell to the ground and the clink gave her goose bumps.

Geta let her go and both men looked at each other uncertainly, she let her twins slowly emerge to see their fathers, ,,They're yours...that's why I left,” she said in defeat and she knelt between her children to look up at the emperors with both of them.

Geta and Caracalla both looked at the toddlers in disbelief but the resemblance was unmistakable before Caracalla poked his son on the nose who laughed.

,,Such a waste of time we would have celebrated, instead we had to mourn...but never again, finally we are a family” Geta announced and took his daughter in his arms who immediately played with the gold in fascination while her mother still knelt on the floor not knowing what to do.

Monsters could love, they had once loved her themselves, but in the end it was always just her body, her natural existence, having children that they both wanted from her and when she saw that neither of the two husbands even gave her a glance she could hear the slamming of the cage all the more.

They had given the emperors what they wanted, heirs, and now she was nothing more than a soon to be distant memory for her twins because they now had their heirs and her mother had to rest for a long, long time alone, accessible only to the emperors.

It seemed as if the nightmare was only just beginning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @somepallings , @userchai

#gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #marcus acacius #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #male x female #reader is female

558 notes · View notes

megalony · 6 days ago

Text

Heir To Rome- Part 2

Here is the second part to my newest Emperor Geta fic, I hope you will all like it.

Feedback is always appreciated.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog

@ajourneyforjoy @wanderingaimlessly99

Main Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: (Y/n) and Geta have a son, an heir, a Prince. But things get tricky when an attempt is made on the newborn Prince.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Geta gave the door a quick shove until it clicked shut behind the maid who scuttled out of the room without needing to be dismissed verbally. All of the servants had come to realise that they would have to sweep in and out of the Emperor's room quickly and efficiently. Their usually slow and tiresome tasks such as changing and making the bed, tidying the room and replacing the glasses and bowls of fruit weren't important right now. Not this week.

This week, Geta didn't want any interruptions or clattering about and people milling in and out of their room. He had made it clear that this week he wouldn't be attending most of the usual daily meetings and tasks he would usually do. He wasn't attending any dull or angered meetings, he wasn't seeing to state affairs or dealing with the inadequacy of the Senates.

For this week, or as long as he could possibly manage, Geta was staying in his chambers with his wife and son and no one would even think to stop him. The only person who wasn't so thrilled about this was Caracalla, but because he was the one person who was allowed to bustle in and out of the room without question, he wasn't too irritated.

He got to come and visit his nephew on a daily basis and most of the meetings and dealings this week would be rather slack and easy going so Caracalla was satisfied.

Adjusting the newborn in his arm, Geta turned on his heels and slowly padded across the room towards the bedroom.

Seeing how he wasn't leaving the room, all he had decided to wear was a simple robe. There was no need to be formal or dress up in his usual silks or his armour and uniform when he wasn't going anywhere or going to be seen by anyone but a few odd servants. He could walk around the room barefoot with his robe half undone and there was no one but his wife to see- and admire- him.

A fondness spread across (Y/n)'s lips when she turned her head towards the door and saw a sight that swelled her heart. Her husband looked so natural and relaxed holding their son, as if it was his life's purpose that he had been waiting for for years.

She liked how his hair was slightly askew, especially towards the back where a few strands were stuck out like loose points of hay in a haybale. And his robe wasn't properly tied at the front, leaving it to slide off the left shoulder and expose Geta's pale skin to (Y/n)'s tired but fond eyes. The loose robe also allowed the newborn in Geta's arms to cuddle against his bare chest.

Fatherhood looked good on him.

"Are you hungry?" Geta advanced towards the bed with his eyes locked on his wife. He took in the way she was sat on the edge of the bed with her hands tapping on the mattress either side of her thighs like she was making sure she didn't suddenly fall backwards and lie down again.

He walked over until he was stood in front of her legs and when her thighs parted, he took another step closer until he was stood between her thighs. And he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her temple.

Geta was sure that the maids were secretly relieved that they didn't have to stay and observe or wait around when they brought food up to the room. He was sure they were pleased that they weren't needed and that Geta barely spoke to them. He knew a lot of the servants feared his temper, something which had been mellowed down greatly since he married (Y/n).

But it was relaxing to have the maids run in and out without really disturbing them or staying to watch and wait to clear the trays. They brought food and drink and then scarpered off. The couple were left alone. The only interruption was the wet nurse when she took their son to his own room for the evenings.

"A little." (Y/n) murmured quietly while she leaned forward and placed her hands on Geta's hips while she pressed her lips to his exposed torso that wasn't covered by the loose robe. Her light touch caused shivers to run up and down Geta's chest and he did his best not to stand and jitter or squirm out of her touch.

He had been quite surprised yesterday that (Y/n) had woken feeling tired but refreshed and seemed to gather bounds of energy. He had walked the length of their bedroom more times than he cared to count, pacing around slowly but happily with (Y/n) in his arms when she needed to stretch her legs but couldn't walk unaided. It also surprised him that (Y/n) was starting to get her appetite back when the healer suggested that she might not be hungry at all and it could take days to get her appetite back.

But (Y/n) was still feeling a little queasy and she didn't dare eat too much and indulge herself only to be sick afterwards. Light meals little and often was the safest option for now.

"Good," His voice was as soft and gentle as his touch when he moved Gaius into his left arm and coiled his other arm around (Y/n)'s waist to help her up. He loved the feel of both of them in his arms at once and (Y/n)'s hands on his arms and her lips on his collar bone.

He attached his lips to her temple as they stood there, entwined together and enjoying the silence that surrounded them. Peace and quiet wasn't something that they got much of, and moments alone together like this was a rarity too. They were going to bask in these moments for as long as they could.

"There will be games at the colosseum next week in your honour, to celebrate." Geta's words were hushed against her temple and (Y/n) found herself smiling as she stayed pressed up into his chest with her lips glued to his collar bone.

She had a feeling that there would be some sort of celebration organised sooner or later. Whether they had a son or a daughter, Geta would want to celebrate and so would the people of Rome. They had already heard that there was cheer throughout Rome about the news of the Prince and the games would make the people even happier and give more cause to celebrate. It would also help to keep the peace and keep the people's spirits up.

"And what about Gaius?" (Y/n) leaned her cheek on Geta's exposed shoulder as his hand began to softly glide up and down the centre of her back. While he guided them towards the table at the far end of the room laid out with a few sweet meats, various fruits and wine.

She moved one hand down to gently glide her fingertips over the back of their son's head while he dozed peacefully in the crook of Geta's arm.

When she tilted her head back to look up at Geta, she found his brow quirked and that soft smile still playing on his features as he looked between her and their boy. They both knew what she was referring to. Geta had barely wanted to take his eyes off his son since the moment he had been born and (Y/n) was much the same, she didn't like it when he wasn't within her sights.

Leaving the palace and going to the colosseum meant leaving Gaius all day. Not having him with them, not having him in their arms or by their side or in the next room. That thought wasn't appealing to either of them.

(Y/n) grinned when Geta's lips smothered her temple as if to cover the sigh that parted his lips.

"He's too young for that kind of celebration, we won't be parted from him for long."

As much as the thought enticed Geta to take their boy with them to the colosseum, that wouldn't happen for another two years or so. Geta didn't want the people seeing their son yet, he didn't want them to gaze upon him until he was older. He wanted to shield his boy, and taking him out of the palace was too risky. He wouldn't be leaving the palace for months, maybe years, yet.

She laid her cheek on his shoulder once again and kept her hand cradling the back of Gaius's head while the pair of them stood, entwined. Neither one wanting to break this moment they had created, after all, they had all day to lounge around and eat, this moment could last a while longer.

(Y/n) could feel herself becoming lost in her thoughts until she felt Geta's nose nudging against her temple which he kissed lightly before he tilted his head down to look at her better.

"Such a pretty smile, what're you thinking?" His head angled down more so his nose could nudge against hers and he could attach his lips to hers while he made sure to keep his left arm locked to secure his sleeping son against his chest.

"Just how soft my merciless Emperor looks right now."

It was no secret that people feared both Emperors. They were seen to be uncaring, cold and merciless at the best of times. They ended more lives than they saved in the colosseum, they ordered executions and had severe punishments for anyone who disrespected them or broke the law.

But seeing Geta right now, people would think this man and the merciless ruler he could be, were two completely different people. He looked so serene, so caring and soft in this moment that (Y/n) couldn't believe how different he was when he was around her. And when he was around their boy too.

She felt him murmur "Only for you," against her lips and it made her smile widen.

She knew that. (Y/n) knew that Geta was only like this around her and their boy, and of course Caracalla depending on their moods. She knew Geta's heart would only go soft like this for her. And she knew that he would become more ruthless than the people of Rome had ever seen if anything were to threaten his family.

He would spill all the blood in the world if anyone threatened his family. They were his everything.

***

A small groan burned at the back of (Y/n)'s throat as she turned her head to the left and nuzzled her cheek into the pillow. Her nose scrunched up slightly and her lips curled as she tried to decipher what was tickling her skin and causing shivers to run down her spine towards her toes.

When her lips moved and she took in a deep breath, a warmth spread across her as she worked out what the feeling was.

It was Geta's hair. It took a moment or two for (Y/n)'s senses to figure themselves out and realise how her husband was laid, but once she did, it made her feel relaxed and as if she were melting into the bed.

He had his face tucked up into the crook of her neck, each soft breath and sigh that he made fanned against her throat and ignited her nerves now that she was somewhat alert. She could feel his nose against the column of her throat and his lips were ever so slightly parted like he was about to sink his teeth into her skin.

She could feel his left arm laid heavy across her upper chest like a barrier of protection which was also helping to pin her down. If she moved one inch away from Geta, he would feel it and shuffle closer. It was always (Y/n)'s delightful experience that if she rolled too far away from Geta, he would subconsciously move too until he had her back as close as he wanted- or needed, her to be.

She wasn't sure where his other arm was, it was probably draped over the pillow somewhere. But she could feel his chest slowly rising and pressing into her arm and side and she felt his leg that was draped over hers so his knee was resting in between her thighs.

It was almost as if Geta was afraid that she might disappear during the night. He held her so tightly even when his brain shut down and he managed to get some sleep for a few hours. But (Y/n) knew it wasn't really a fear of losing her in the night. It was comfort; he had grown attached to sleeping with her close by. He liked to have at least an arm draped around her or to have her head on his chest.

Clearly tonight it was more comforting to be wrapped around her like another blanket. (Y/n) didn't mind. It was soothing to her too.

She turned her head just a little more until her nose and lips were pressing down into Geta's hair that would surely be askew in all directions by now. He tossed and turned so much before he actually managed to sleep that in a morning, his hair looked like a birds nest.

She inhaled the soothing scents and oils that were woven into Geta's golden locks while she flopped her right hand on his arm.

It didn't take long for her brain to shut down again and she stayed with her head tilted down, nuzzling into Geta's hair.

It felt like an eternity had passed while they slept, but (Y/n)'s body jolted as if she had become possessed when a thunderous noise resonated throughout the room. Her eyes shot open and her chest bolted up from the bed as a shriek escaped her lips.

She felt the jolt than ran through Geta, the noise had clearly awoken him too and he startled up from where he had been laid over her.

His left hand pressed down into the mattress right next to (Y/n)'s chest so his arm was still caged over her chest and he pushed up awkwardly on his hip to try and sit up. While his other hand fumbled around to try and find the thin blade that was always hidden safely beneath one of the many pillows on their bed.

It didn't matter that they had hundreds of guards trained and charged with protecting them. Geta didn't want to run into the risk of someone being skilled enough to sneak past the guards and find himself vulnerable with no weapon to defend himself or his wife.

His fingers curled around the blade while he swiftly spun off his hip so he was sitting upright in the bed properly. His other hand retracted from (Y/n) when she sat up and curled her hands around the arm closest to her. Her lips merged with his bare shoulder while Geta looked wildly around the room, trying to find the source of the noise.

It had sounded so close, so deafening and booming as if a canon had been let off in their chambers.

Another thunderous noise broke out, louder this time, and (Y/n) jumped when a beacon of light shone into their room. It was the door. Their bedroom door had been flung wide open, revealing the dark silhouette of a guard stood in the doorway with the flicking light from candles and hallway torches lighting up behind him.

(Y/n)'s hands tightened around Geta's arm and she inched a little closer to him with her chest pressing up into his bare back. Her chin pressed down into his shoulder as she tried to take deep breaths to calm down her erratic heartbeat.

She could feel each rise and fall of Geta's chest that was throbbing and heaving and there was a subtle shaking setting in his system. He looked like he was riled up and about to explode.

His usually pale complexion was swiftly changing into a bright red that was swarming his face and seething down his neck. The end of his nose started to crinkle and his upper lip curled into a snarl as he stared down the guard who was visibly quaking in his boots.

"What is the meaning of this?" The dangerous tone to Geta's voice made the guard advert his eyes down to the floor for a moment.

He clearly knew what he had done. It was no secret that both Emperors hated people barging in and interrupting or disturbing them without knocking like this. If the guard didn't have a good reason then he was going to be out of a job and quite possibly sent to the cells for a few days as punishment.

The guard stepped closer which seemed to be a bad move as Geta visibly snarled when he moved towards the foot of the bed. But he didn't want to be raising his voice to be heard, he needed to be closer so he could discuss the issue at hand with the Emperor and Empress.

"Apologies, Emperor, but- but the Prince-"

Those few stuttered words were enough to enrage a fire within Geta and cause shockwaves to rattle through (Y/n).

What was wrong with her baby? Was her little boy alright? He couldn't be if the guards were bursting in here in the middle of the night with such panic. But why guards? Why not the wet nurse or the maids who were in charge of the Prince's care? Why weren't they the ones coming in here to explain whatever was wrong.

"Is he alright?" (Y/n)'s voice came out high pitched in alarm and her nails started to pierce into Geta's arm until he roughly threw the covers to one side and slammed to his feet.

His body was shaking and his jaw began to grind from left to right as he reached for his robe and slung it on carelessly as he moved to stand before the guard. He inclined his head to one side, staring down the guard who was now visibly panicking.

Geta's hands were at the point of trembling as he tied the blood red robe around his waist. He couldn't exactly be storming the halls with nothing on, it wasn't a sight the maids were permitted to see.

"Does he need a healer?" Concern and aggravation flooded Geta's voice as he waited impatiently to be told what was the matter with his son.

This was the only time that Geta wouldn't oppose to someone bursting into their room without knocking, in the middle of the night. If someone had news of his boy or something was wrong then Geta would never be upset. He wanted any news of his boy to come before anything else, he would always put (Y/n) and Gaius's health before all others.

A shiver coursed down his spine when he felt (Y/n) glue herself up against his back once she scrambled off the bed. Her hands shakily found his hips and her lips and nose meshed into the back of his shoulder, but it was as if he could feel the paranoia coming off of her in waves.

Did Geta need to find the healer? Was their boy unwell? It was no secret that there was a high mortality rate for newborns. They contracted so many diseases and often died from sickness and fever. Of course, being here in the palace meant their son had a higher chance of thriving. Clean water, the best of foods, healers on demand, no poverty and disease succumbing to the palace.

But none of that secured the Prince's health. Anything could cause the wind to change and have him take gravely ill.

He was only two weeks old. They couldn't have anything wrong with him now, nothing serious could be wrong with him. And they couldn't lose him. God forbid they lose him. (Y/n) wouldn't know how to cope or what to do with herself if their little boy passed away.

"No, no he's not ill… sire, someone tried to take him."

Geta's head ticked to the side as if he thought he couldn't possibly have heard the guard properly.

Take him? Someone had gotten into the palace and had tried to snatch the Prince? Or had someone working within the palace tried to take him? Why would anyone try and take their boy? How could that even happen?

The Prince was on the same floor as them, he was right down the hall with his nurse maid. Guards were posted throughout the palace, but more were stationed on this floor where both Emperors, the Empress and the Prince were. No one should have been able to sneak past every guard and get into the Prince's chambers.

"What?" Geta's voice dropped down to an ungodly level as the redness continued to spread across his features and he found his hands balling up into fists at his sides.

"Where is he?!"

"Still in the nursery, Empress."

That was all (Y/n) needed to hear. Her baby hadn't been snatched during the night and taken somewhere far away. He was still here, they hadn't managed to get away with him.

(Y/n)'s hands dropped from clutching Geta's arm and her legs were moving before she even knew what she was doing. The slight cramping in her abdomen didn't slow her down and the fact that she was merely in her night gown didn't cross her mind at all. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was reaching her boy and making sure he was alright and unharmed.

One hand reached down to scrunch up the bottom of her gown so she didn't trip over or get her feet tangled and her other hand gripped the wall to use as leverage to propel herself through the doorway. She shot through their adjoining chamber and out into the hall, barely hearing her husband's distant call of her name following behind her.

Fury spilled over inside Geta as he reached his hand out and crashed his palm against the guard's shoulder, causing him to stumble backwards.

"Get the General." Each word was sneered with venom before Geta hurried to try and match pace with his wife who was already out the door.

He was surprised how fast she managed to move considering it was the middle of the night and she was still recovering after only having Gaius two weeks ago.

Each breath that raged past Geta's lips caused his chest to heave and he felt like he was starting to go lightheaded. A growl rumbled deep within his chest as he barrelled into the dimly lit corridor that was now ablaze with people moving in all directions. Stirred by the commotion of the night.

His hand reached out to rest on (Y/n)'s shoulder when he finally caught up with her just as she slammed open the door to their boy's chamber.

The words "Where is he?" Seemed to tumble from both their lips at the same time. (Y/n) scanned her rabid eyes around the room until she found the wet nurse who was to stay with the Prince at all times unless he was with the nurse maid. They were both charged with looking after him unless he was in his parent's presence. It was their job to nurture him, but not to protect him from attacks like this.

(Y/n) looked over the nurse who was a few years older than herself. Her hair was tousled in all directions, her frame was shaking and she looked as pale as a pitcher of milk. There was a look in her eyes that resembled terror and it made (Y/n)'s stomach clench. Did she think they were going to punish her for any of this? Did she think she was somehow at fault for any of this?

The nurse seemed to understand what (Y/n) wanted without her needing to say a word at all for the elder lady lifted her trembling arms in (Y/n)'s direction. She bowed her head down when (Y/n) hurried forward and took her son into her own arms.

Tears began to stream down (Y/n)'s face as she bound her baby to her chest and took a step back towards Geta. Her eyes fell closed and her head tilted down until her lips and nose were softly pressed against the newborn's head. She could feel each whimper and cry he let out vibrate through to her heart that was pounding against her ribs so much it felt like they were beginning to fracture.

Her boy was shaking too. His little arms were bashing against (Y/n)'s chest as he writhed and wriggled in her arms, clearly distraught at the commotion that was happening around him. His features were screwed up, his lips were wet from crying and wailing and he was beginning to sniffle now too.

(Y/n) moved her hand to cup the back of his head and she began to glide her thumb across the small tufts of hair while her other arm encased him to her chest. She tried her best not to squeeze him too tightly, she didn't want to hurt him but she wanted to soothe him and stuff him into her heart to keep him safe.

She felt Geta's hands reaching for her again. One hand gripped her shoulder so he could glue his chest up against her back and his other arm carefully encased around (Y/n)'s so his hand could cradle the back of their son's head.

He tilted his head down so his lips were pressing against the side of (Y/n)'s temple and he tried his best to control his breathing and regulate his system that was starting to overload. But Geta couldn't help how riled up he felt. He employed these people to protect his family, not to allow people to get close enough to try and harm them.

His chest heaved against (Y/n)'s back and a fire burned within his eyes that began to roam around the room, checking for anything that was out of place and any sign of what had really happened in here tonight. But something caught Geta's eye and caused his breathing to stutter.

His lips broke apart from (Y/n)'s temple and his hand tightened around her shoulder as he leaned to the left and peered down at the marble floor near the crib.

Blood.

There were droplets of blood on the floor. A small table had been knocked over. Blankets and towels and bowls were scattered across the floor, showing some signs of a struggle. The window was smashed. Had that happened during the struggle or was that how someone had gotten in? If so, how did they know that this was the Prince's room?

Geta didn't feel like he could breathe at all when he leaned his head over (Y/n)'s shoulder and moved both arms around her waist so he could reach over for their boy. His hands skimmed across the newborn, checking the silks draped around his small frame to see if any specks of blood could be seen. He checked his arms, his face and neck and across his chest, but there was no sign of any scratches or cuts of even the beginning of a bruise. He looked okay.

A frown furrowed on (Y/n)'s features at the sudden urgency in Geta's movements but when she cast her eyes down and noticed the blood on the floor, she shivered.

"Are you hurt?" Her eyes locked on the nurse and she tried to assess whether the elder woman had any abrasions or cuts too.

"No, my lady. T- they tried to take him from the cradle, I called for help… the guard wounded one of them."

One of them. That meant that there had been at least two or maybe three people who had tried to take their son. Just the thought had (Y/n) shivering and cowering back into Geta whose arms tightened around her waist in some small sense of reassurance.

"Where are they?" Geta turned his head to look at one of the guards who was stood just behind the door like he was lying in wait for anyone else to try and break in and sneak up on them.

"They absconded-"

"You let them get away?!"

(Y/n) couldn't help the way she flinched in Geta's arms that tightened around her like binding ropes. His voice was guttural and echoed off the walls along with their boy's whimpers and cries. She felt the deep breath Geta took to try and control his temper that was starting to drift out of his reach. And the feeling of his lips smothering her temple again was soothing for both of them.

How could they let them get away? How could they wound them but not badly enough to be able to catch them? They were supposed to be trained, lethal, without mercy. They were supposed to keep everyone safe. Letting attackers get out of the palace didn't count as keeping them safe.

"What if they come back? They- they could have killed him!" (Y/n) could feel the panic rising within her and it caused her stomach to twinge and ache and a horrible crushing feeling tightened within her chest.

Her knees began to tremble and she felt herself doubling over slightly, still with her baby boy encased safely in her embrace. If they couldn't keep him safe then what were (Y/n) and Geta to do? They would have to keep him with them at all times. They would have to watch over him at every moment to try and ensure his safety and that he came to no harm. They couldn't have this happening again.

"Sit down-"

"No." (Y/n) shook her head and writhed in Geta's arms when he tried to move her towards one of the chairs.

She didn't want to sit and wallow in here. She didn't want to sit and panic and listen to their pathetic excuses over how they failed to do exactly what they were trained and paid for. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

"Y-you're supposed to keep him safe." She sneered each word at the two guards stood near the door before she pulled out of Geta's embrace and stormed out of the room. Her son still safe in her arms.

Geta mumbled something along the lines of "Go and rest." Towards the wet nurse because she had been through an ordeal. She could go to the kitchens and find herself some wine to settle her nerves or retire to one of the rooms for the rest of the night. She wasn't needed at the moment, the Prince wouldn't be leaving his parent's sights.

His hands began to tremble when he raised them to run along his face to try and calm himself down.

The moment he lowered his hands and looked towards the two guards stood trembling at the back of the room, he felt like he was going to combust. They were staring back at him as if they hadn't done anything wrong, as if they weren't culpable for any of this. And it infuriated him.

"Emperor, we tried-"

"You tried? You let them get away, it's by no great mercy that my son hasn't been slain in his sleep."

It felt pretentious that they could stand there and try to tell him that they had tried. They clearly hadn't tried hard enough. They hadn't done anything to stop the perpetrators from escaping. They had barely done enough to stop the Prince from coming to any harm.

"He is my heir!" His words echoed off the walls as his seething voice had spit foaming past his lips.

That was why this had happened. Gaius was the heir, he was the one who would take the throne next. He would be the next Emperor after Geta and Caracalla passed, whenever that may be. He was the succession, he had secured Geta and Caracalla's place on the throne as now there was an heir that no one could dispute.

But if any harm came to the heir then the succession might not be secure. Taking him meant after Caracalla and Geta passed, the throne would be in jeopardy.

Well Geta would not allow any harm to befall his son.

"He will succeed us and take the throne, anyone who tries to harm him is a traitor. And traitors don't get to live." He wouldn't have anyone getting away with this. Once the perpetrators had been found, they would be dealt with accordingly. By Geta himself.

He would make an example of them to ensure this didn't happen again. He wasn't having anyone else think they could try their luck at harming the Prince. They might try and harm Geta and (Y/n) or Caracalla. An example had to be maid to deter any other subjects from trying this too.

Both guards found themselves nodding, but their gazes were set on the floor so they didn't have to face the Emperor's wrath. They still didn't know whether they were going to receive a form of punishment for this.

"He will inherit all of Rome. You are supposed to protect him; see to it that no more harm comes to my son."

With that being said, Geta made sure to keep his gaze set dead ahead of him, not bothering to look towards either of the guards who had disgraced him. When Geta found out exactly which guards had failed at their posts, he would make sure they were dealt with sufficiently and replaced as soon as possible.

The feeling of the cold marble floor against his bare soles was somehow relaxing and calming and it stopped the fire within him from spreading too far and wide.

He raged back down the hall and stormed into their chambers once again and he cast his eyes around the room. There were now two servants stood in the room, looking rather like statues with how uncertain and useless they seemed.

"Out." The click of Geta's fingers pointing towards the door was enough to make them scarper.

They weren't needed. He wasn't sure why they had even rushed in here. What did they think they could do? Did they think he and (Y/n) wanted them to stay and pour wine and talk with them? They didn't need anything except the protection that their guards were clearly failing to give.

Once they were gone from his sights, Geta turned and slammed the door shut with such force that the pillars and walls began to tremble in fear of facing his wrath. He spun on his bare heels and started trudging towards the bedroom, but as he did, he noticed that candles had been lit all around the room.

The servants were good for something, then.

He could feel his heart aching and clenching in his chest when he walked into the bedroom. (Y/n) was sat on the end of the bed, her feet anxiously tapping against the rug, her lips smothered against the top of their sons head who had finally ceased his crying. And she was slowly swaying back and forth, whether that was to calm her down or Gaius, Geta couldn't be sure.

"They almost took him." Her words were so quiet that Geta almost missed them but when he heard, his shoulders slumped and he sighed. He advanced towards her until he was stood in front of her so that her knees were bumping into his each time she tried to rock back and forth.

"I'll make sure the guards find whoever did this; Acacius will find them. They won't get away with this."

When a tear trickled slowly down (Y/n)'s cheek, Geta knelt down until he was in front of her with his chest pressing against her knees and his hands gently cupping both of her thighs. He leaned forward and pressed a slow, tender kiss against her thigh before he tilted his head back to look up at her. And one hand tenderly reached up to brush along the back of their son's head.

"Geta, he- he has to stay with us."

(Y/n) couldn't let him go. Not after what had happened. She didn't want their boy to be in a different room to them, let alone be out of their sights for longer than a few seconds. They had to protect him, they both knew why someone had tried to take him. Their boy had to be protected.

"He's not leaving my sight. Neither of you are." Geta's hand moved from the back of their boy's head to reach up for (Y/n) instead. His thumb swiped across the few tears starting to trickle down her face again and his fingers caressed and tickled the back of her neck.

He wasn't having either his wife or son leave his sights after this. They were both going to stay with him until he knew it was truly safe to trust the guards with protecting them again. With protecting what was most important to Geta.

#imagine #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta imagine #geta imagine #geta x reader #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #gladiator imagine #gladiator movie #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #heir to rome

287 notes · View notes